


Winds In The East

by glenien



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Evil Mary, Gen, John's psychosomatic leg, Kind of Fix It, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Post-The Final Problem, Psychosis, Redbeard - Freeform, The Final Problem, You saw the episode she is murderous, sherrinford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenien/pseuds/glenien
Summary: “Doctor Watson,” The soft, otherworldly melodic voice draws him away from his disturbed memories, “have you come to see me?”He doesn’t have a violin, so he draws a chair and very deliberately sits three feet away from her.“You wanted to see me?” he grits between his teeth.In her clinically white cell, Eurus Holmes lifts her head and offers him a deranged smile.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I was writing something else, then this happened. Unbetaed, I'm sorry.

_Winds in the east, there's a mist comin' in_

_Like somethin' is brewin' and 'bout to begin._

_Can't put me finger on what lies in store,_

_But I feel what's to happen all happened before._

 

**Winds In The East - Mary Poppins (1964)**

 

* * *

 

 

It is very well established that there is very little he wouldn’t do for Sherlock, so nobody’s surprised when he accepts his quiet request, even though he would have preferred to never put another fucking step on this bloody island.

He knows for sure that none of the Holmes brothers watched the _Saw_ franchise, because if they did, they wouldn’t be all jolly about this as well, turning it into a nice family event.

Then the Holmeses had fake gravestones on their backyard where they let their youngest play, so who fucking knows?

“Doctor Watson,” The soft, otherworldly melodic voice draws him away from his disturbed memories, “have you come to see me?”

He doesn’t have a violin, so he draws a chair and very deliberately sits three feet away from her.

“You wanted to see me?” he grits between his teeth.

In her clinically white cell, Eurus Holmes lifts her head and offers him a deranged smile. She is sitting on the floor, her legs pulled together under her, like they are in some kind of fucked up yoga session.

For the millionth time since he learned about her, John wonders if this asylum (he wouldn’t bother calling it _prison_ or _clinical institution_ ) really serve any possible health ethic code. He knows the answer is a resounding _no_.

“Yes, I called for you,” Eurus smiles and her entire posture and accent changes, “You’ll have to forgive me John, I couldn’t meet you at my office. But we had an _appointment_.”

John already witnessed her Bond villain transformation once and a few dissociation cases in his time, nothing this severe of course, but it’s fair to say he is not all that impressed. It still sends chills down his spine though, which he does his absolute best to hide.  

Eurus grins at him, as if she already noticed it and returns to her normal speak. “You see, I promised. I can’t leave these walls,” Her grin takes a shark-like sharpness. “Not anymore.”

“Well, you killed _a lot of_ people,” John snaps, unable to stop himself.

Eurus gives him an utterly cold look, her voice drops into a deadly baritone. “So did all of you.”

John can’t prolong this any longer. He leans forward, squeezing his own knees to stop his fingers from becoming fists. “Why am I _here_ , Eurus?”

She stands up with the gracefulness of a ballerina. In her white outfit, she very well could be a Swan. “Please John, none of this Eurus business… Call me _Elizabeth_.” She gives him a coy, flirty look, “We had such nice time, texting, haven’t we? You told me _so many nice things_.”

Astonished, John blinks and looks at her. He sees _right through_ her. He wonders how the Holmes brothers cannot see it, the, the obvious, the _madness_. There is no redemption, no chance of reconciliation for her. He absolutely can’t show any weakness though, so he draws a deep, calming breath, puts his hands on the arms of his chair and asks again. “What do you want from me?”

“You are my birthday present,” As if copying him, Eurus blinks a few times and relaxes her face into an innocent expression, then chuckles, “Is Sherlock with you?”

A muscle moves in John’s cheek and he swallows. “Yes, he is watching.”

“Good,” says Eurus, sugary sweet, “And how is little Rosie?”

His left hand spasms. “Good. _Why?_ ”

Eurus shrugs. “Just curious. I did listen to you a lot, remember?”

John stays silent, letting her talk.

She walks right in front of him, her hands on the glass wall, her eyes boring into his. “You are a _very_ curious man, Doctor Watson. They all bought this helpless, little girl act but you… no,” She lets her hot breath fog the glass and then draws little girl figures on it. Her dreamy voice is cloying. “Was it your mother, I wonder? Or the sister?” She turns her eyes on him. “I’m betting both.”

John grits his teeth and pointedly, doesn’t answer. His silence seems to annoy her, she is suddenly very much agitated. She does remind him of Sherlock, when he play-acts emotions for other people and then suddenly drops the mask.

John is not happy at all with the comparison.

 _He is doing better_ , a voice whispers inside his head, and it is right, he is doing better. Even the memory of their embrace calms him down.

Eurus on the other hand, walks forward and backward, as if a caged, wild animal, her gestures suddenly short and frantic. “I mean, really, one or two tears and suddenly everyone is _very_ forgiving,” she finishes with an Irish accent, very reminiscent of Moriarty, John can’t help but shiver this time. She grins maniacally. “I mean, I wanted to _kill_ all of you!” She laughs happily. “Just like little Trevor… I would have killed _all_ of you. But especially, sweet _Sherlock_.” She suddenly stops to grin at John. “But you know all about it, don’t you? You are used to… people, wanting to kill Sherlock. You even _marry_ them.”

John can’t remember when he got onto his feet. But he finds out that he is no longer sitting and the wooden backrest of the chair is turned backwards, in between his fists, he is squeezing it. “What the fuck are you implying?”

Her clear eyes, so much like her brother’s, seem to pierce through the glass wall. She smiles, quick and sweet, and then slow and savouring, she delivers it. “You are _not_ her father, you know that.”

It would have the same effect if she were to reach out and slap him hard. Still, John feels as solid as a rock, his shaking arms are his only give away. “ _Yes, I know_ ,” he whispers, his voice as thin as a whistle. “Doesn’t make me less of her father, though.”

That seems to draw her attention to tenfold. “Oh, _fascinating_.” Both of her hands are on the glass wall now, her eyes drinking every nuance of his expression. “Always a mystery, you are, John. But did you know,” Now she is grinning, “that _her mother is still alive?_ ”

For one second, John thinks he misheard her. “What?”

The mad Holmes girl doesn’t even move a muscle. Slowly, she caresses the glass. “Oh, sweet little Mary… she didn’t even play a good enough role, you know, in the end. I mean, even Mycroft’s act was way more believable.”

There is a ringing in John’s ears. All he can focus on is that sweet, cloying voice and those cold, blue eyes. “That dramatic shooting? Blood _bursting_ through her chest? And ah, of course, a final… dramatic… speech…” Eurus slowly delivers. “Didn’t you say you’re an army doctor, _Doctor Watson_?”

He is shaking, he knows this. “What the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

Eurus walks further into her room, hopping on her table, her legs crossed. “Well, let’s say, Redbeard wasn’t the only thing we spoke about, with sweet little Jim. We had sooooo many little chats together…” She sighs happily and winks towards the camera. “Recording funny videos... planning his little plan… on how to destroy Sherlock Holmes. His suicide was inevitable. But I said,” Her voice once again drops into Moriarty’s vowels, “Dear Jim, if you want to _burn the heart out of him_ ,” Eurus grins wickedly back at him, “why not start with _John Watson_?”

“You are _lying_ ,” John grits out, his voice barely above a whisper, his whole body is shaking with suppression, “I saw you do it, before, with other _people_. It’s clever. Really clever. You just plant an idea. All you need is an _idea_.”

Eurus jumps down the table, solemnly makes tours around the room, as if she didn’t hear him. “Haven’t you ever wondered… how an ex-assassin found you? Did you _really_ choose her? Or has _she_ chosen _you_? In your quaint clinic… where you were mourning. Sad... so much sadness… and ooh! An ex-assassin who turned out to be a nurse! A pay-for-hire killer… how so?” She stops as if she really is wondering. “And of ALL those people… she chooses _you_. She picks up a nice cup of coffee,” Eurus picks one imaginary one as well, “And bumps into the sad doctor, saying,” She mimics a _perfect_ impression of Mary, “ ‘ _Oh, would you mind? I’m Mary Morstan, by the way._ ’ ”

John drops his head, shaking it ferociously. “You are lying.”

Eurus continues with her perfect posture, “ _‘A famous detective blog? Never heard of it!’_ She wasn’t even very patient, was she? She was already paid for, anyway… you were just the bonus, I think. She _really_ must have liked your face,” Eurus grins wildly, “when you were quivering inside that bomb jacket, back at the pool.”

“Shut up, just shut _THE FUCK UP!_ ” John screams and throws the chair across the floor.

The door makes a mechanical noise and Sherlock bursts into the room, grabbing him, drawing him back. His voice is hard when he shouts straight into glass wall. “Eurus! What is the meaning of all this?”

Eurus cackles madly. “Oh, little brother… you should have believed Jim. Look at your heart… look at it _burn_.”

For all small graces, the chair is broken but the glass is bulletproof. John is shaking. He violently shrugs off Sherlock’s arms, his mind already churning with horrible doubt.

Sherlock takes one step. “John…”

“Don’t touch me!” He hisses out, feeling skinned alive, all his soft flesh under hard, cold scrutiny, unable to trust anything he knows at this point.

Sherlock, as always, knows him better. He doesn’t hesitate to grab him with both arms. “John, come on,” he whispers, “Come outside with me.”

He lets Sherlock drag him away, while Eurus calls out after them, “I too, would have slept with you, John… You really have such _nice face!_ ”

The doors close after them and John is just able to take two more steps before collapsing on the floor. He feels Sherlock following him down, holding him up, even though there is no way to be up.

“Is it true?” His teeth are shaking, “Sherlock, is it true what she’s saying?”

To his horror, Sherlock seems utterly muted as well. “I don’t…”

“Sherlock!”

His eyes are filled out with desperation and the same, small doubt. “I don’t know John, I’m sorry, I don’t know…” he whispers, honest.

John lets out a harsh, ugly laugh. “I knew… I knew about Rosie… even before, because my- my leg, it, it wasn’t just my leg, when I was shot- I had half a building collapse on me. I had an injury then… and I’ve been shown the tests. I knew it would be a miracle if I had any child. I still- I didn’t want to… Sherlock… was she? Mary, did Moriarty…? Oh god,” John throws his palms to his face, wanting to claw into his own eyes.

A pair of hands grasp into his, stopping him. “ _Never_ theorize before you have data, John,” Sherlock whispers but his voice is fierce. He lends him a hand and helps him get up, drawing him further away from the madwoman’s door, while a familiar tune, a violin rendition of a Waltz rises up from behind the cell door.

Back at the helicopter, when they are waiting for the lift off, Sherlock looks at his eyes with agonizing pain and says through the microphone, “I shouldn’t have brought you here, for that I am truly sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” John says to him, he reaches a hand to touch his coat, “You were trying to do a good thing.”

Sherlock’s clear, sorrowful eyes turn on him. “She made you burn and that was my fault.”

John shakes his head again. “She couldn’t. Nobody could.” As the blades start to turn, the noise rises up to drown everything else and the ground starts to pull away from them. He hesitates just one second, before grasping onto Sherlock’s hand. “I believe in you.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything but the look in his eyes never wavers. He squeezes John’s hand hard and doesn’t let go of it.

Together, they watch the wild ocean rock the stone walls of Sherrinford and fly towards the unknown future.


End file.
